Nothing But a Fairytale
by Tendrilofthought
Summary: It had been four years since Jack Dawkins had been deported to Australia. And finally, he had a visitor, a struggling English author who needed to find a new story. If you've ever wondered how the story might have ended for the unmentioned characters...


**Author's Note: Hello, all you wonderful people that are reading this. If you're reading this because you had me on author alert from the single chapter of my Dramione story I put up a year ago… my deepest apologies. I wrote the first and penultimate chapter simultaneously, and then promptly went on a hiatus that limited my involvement with fanfiction to being a rabid beta. But I'm actually planning on updating this summer! If you're reading this and wondering what the heck I'm talking about, err… ignore everything. Anyways, at the risk of this note becoming longer than the actual story, I'll stop typing now. **

Nothing But a Fairytale

It had been four years since Jack Dawkins was deported to Australia. Four long, monotonous years of being shut up in a cage with stinking, idiotic men who were, in every sense of the word, barbarians. Four years since he had seen a friendly face—or even a face that didn't mean him bodily harm. Four years of a slow death from insanity caused by having nothing to do but think. And for the first time in those four years of veritable Hell, Jack finally had a visitor.

The man sitting in front of Jack was plump, balding, and completely over-dressed for the climate and situation. He kept a silk handkerchief in one hand and constantly pressed it to his head, neck, and red face. In the other hand, the man held a pencil, poised to write on the pad balanced on his knee.

Jack studied him for a few moments. He was an English author, Jack knew that much from the posters that had shown up all over the prison walls a few months ago. The man was in need of a story— and really, where better to get inspiration from than a prisoner who had nothing to do but think… and would never be released to tell the world of the plagiarism?

"Mr. Dawkins?" inquired the man. Dickens… that was his name. Jack grinned wryly. Dickens and Dawkins. "Whenever you would care to begin?"

Jack thought a moment, and then began slowly. "I guess that it all started with this little boy. John was his name, but everyone called him the Artful Dodger…"

The story had gone on for days now, and Dickens was horribly frustrated. He was interested in one character, the young Oliver Twist— and really, who wouldn't be? Anyone with half a brain could tell that he was a more interesting character. And yet… there was something about the way that Jack talked about this Artful Dodger, the main character of his story, that compelled him. Easily, the Dodger could become a more developed character, and maybe even have a featured role in the novel Dickens was writing about Oliver. But there was still something, some key element, missing from the Dodger's persona… ah!

"Mr. Dawkins," interrupted Dickens, "was the Artful Dodger overly-fond… that is to say, did he like… that is to say, did he _love _anybody?"

Jack's eyes softened as he thought. "Ah. He did." Hesitantly, with a strange reluctance, the young man continued. "You remember Nancy, don't you?"

Dickens nodded. How could he forget her, the fallen woman with a heart of gold? Such a stereotype, really, but a necessary character to the plot as a whole… maybe he could just have that boyfriend of hers kill her off… that would make him more evil, and the girl would be canonized. Jack's voice brought Dickens out of his reverie.

"Nancy… she was an angel, that's the only way to describe her. Her pretty red hair even made a cloud-like halo around her head when the sun shone through it just right." The sudden burst of sentimentality surprised Dickens, but he chose not to comment as Jack continued. "She was so kind, too… I mean, he had Charlie as a mate, but nobody understood him, no one felt his remorse and pain like Nancy could."

"But she… wasn't she with Bill?"

Jack's eyes blazed fiercely. "That didn't matter. The Dodger was Fagin's favorite; he always got a higher wage than the rest. When the other boys spent their earnings on smokes and beer, he saved his. He had this plan, see, to put enough money away and then buy a house in the country where he and Nancy could live, far away from the evils and stink and crime of the city. Bill would have left her eventually— he'd be thrown in prison, or hanged, or just have gotten bored with Nancy- but the Dodger would be there. He'd be there. Always."

"And what happened?" Dickens asked breathlessly. This tangent was certainly interesting, even if he would probably leave it out of the novel…

Jack looked away. "One day, he told her. He couldn't help it, it just came out."

Dickens looked up. "What did she say?"

Jack was far away, off in the world of his story. "Nothing. She was silent for a minute, and then she leaned forward and she… she kissed him." This last part was said barely above a whisper. He was silent for a moment. Dickens cleared his throat, and Jack jumped. "Right. But then, she sprang away, crying about Bill and how it wasn't right or proper. Well, Bill came in when he heard her crying. He grabbed the Dodger and threw him into the street. Then he called over a bobby and made up some nonsense about how the Dodger had stolen his precious snuffbox. The policeman took him to jail, and the next thing he knew, the Artful Dodger was bound for Australia. But it didn't matter, because he knew that Nancy loved him. When he got out, he would find her and they'd get married and they will live happily ever after."

Dickens caught the change in verb tense. He edged closer to the gaunt prisoner. "Mr. Dawkins… this _is_ just a story— right?"

Jack turned, hiding his bitter smile. "Yes. Nothing but a fairytale."

**So this was the result of procrastinating my English homework until the last minute and not paying attention while we were watching a movie in French class (the class before our assignment- write two pages about the epilogue- was due). Fun, eh? Please review- anything in welcome!**


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